If only you could see what I see...

I finished end to torment, a memoir of Ezra Pound whilst on my lunch break. Well, not entirely. I still have to read "Hilda's Book," which is at the end. It's a collection of poems Ezra wrote to Hilda. I'm pretty excited about it because sadly, I've never read any of EP's pre-modernism work and I don't care much for his modernist ramblings.

Finishing the book and reading through a rather large biography on H.D. prompts me to start writing the story I have in mind. It will be based on their relationship. But another part of me just wants to keep researching. I think it's an excuse, really. I have enough to start writing, but perhaps I'm afraid. Afraid the beautiful things I have in my mind won't transfer onto paper. Well, of course they won't! Not at first. Haven't I learned that by now?

I once got a fortune that read, "You are good with words and should write a book." I plan on taking that advice, but just have to stop writing all these books in my head. People aren't mind readers!